dead men and the dying
by indelible
Summary: Tsuna's future does not, in fact, change. 692759.


**dead men and the dying**

* * *

**  
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5.

The watch on the man's wrist reads _4:15_. It is still dark out in Italy at this month, and Mukuro knows a blessing when he sees it. He neatly sidesteps the corpse and whistles a lofty tune, even as his shoes leave a trail of blood behind. He looks so happy and at peace with himself that if Gokudera weren't terrified of him in the first place, then he would be now.

"You didn't have to kill anyone," says Gokudera as he lights his fourth cigarette since the mission started. In another place, in another time, he might have let his disgust show, but for now he is simply tired of it. Mukuro is, too, but his exhaustion is one filled with an insatiable, restless longing. Perhaps it helps Mukuro feel like a god, or perhaps it is therapeutic for him. Gokudera really doesn't want to know. "It was only reconnaissance."

His companion smirks, and it is a strained sort of smile, unlike his usually more relaxed (insulting) ones. He doesn't say anything for a while, but, when he does, the world is still and ominous, as if in warning. Gokudera bristles and they walk back to the parking lot, together but not quite.

"It was necessary," says Mukuro, almost to himself, as if it were an afterthought or a misplaced idea, and he says it as if he really believes it, as if he has no other choice.

Gokudera narrows his eyes and gets in the car.

If Gokudera is content to measure his day in the number of cigarettes he consumes, then Mukuro finds a sense of time and satisfaction in the amount of blood he has spilled. In this train of thought, is it alright to call the former a masochist and the latter a sadist? If anyone knows the truth, then it would be Sawada Tsunayoshi, but there is no way to ask, not like this.

Mukuro smiles and watches the sun rise from behind tinted windows.

Will they make it through the month?

* * *

4.

It is January today, the beginning of the year and the end of a crime.

The funeral is a small, quiet affair, reserved for close friends, family, and a few subordinates of the departed. Every hour, new shipments of flowers and calls of consolation arrive. Some send their regrets. Others send their poorly disguised happiness. The chance of becoming the best family increases at the expense of others, of course. This time, the body in the casket is not of the lowest-ranked underling, nor of a legendary guardian. It is Sawada Tsunayoshi, a powerful figure in the underground world, and the only boss that Gokudera will ever serve.

All of his guardians pay their respects. Even Mukuro, to Gokudera and Hibari's distaste, has opted to appear instead of Chrome. It is unfortunate that even in a solemn occasion, politics and internal conflicts cannot be set aside. The atmosphere is enough proof of that.

Iemitsu delivers the eulogy, mostly because he cannot trust Nana to do it without crying before she even begins. He talks of Tsunayoshi not as a man, or as a boss, but as his son. It is serious and affected, a speech that would have made Tsunayoshi laugh and disbelieve if he were alive. Suddenly, when there is nothing left to prevent it, when there cannot be any pretenses and falsities to prepare, truth is the last resort anyone can turn to.

Even for Rokudo Mukuro.

"Juudaime," he whispers, and, for the first time, there is no sarcasm in his tone, no misplaced wit and obvious contempt directed towards Tsunayoshi, only tenderness, as if he means it, and if Gokudera hears it, he doesn't make a sound. He doesn't dare to, for fear that the only thing he will do if he opens his mouth a little is to cry.

Let them regret lost loves and say goodbye to the dead. They may lay his body on a field of flowers or a casket filled with bones from another grave, but what does it matter now? Mukuro has no use for a dead body, much less for a deceased heart.

It does not rain that day. The only thing that greets them is sunlight. Warm, glorious sunlight.

* * *

3.

Stories about the mafia begin and end with death. The death of a person, an animal, and perhaps even a heart. Tsunayoshi Sawada learns this the hard way. In truth, perhaps there is never an easy way to do so, but the important thing is that he knows and understands what this means.

Today he will kill or be killed, and he knows there is no other way but that. It will be the first time, and the last. He may have saved a part of his future ten years ago, but he feels it in his bones, the instinctive knowledge that this is destiny, that he cannot – _should not_ – escape what is fated.

He tells this to Mukuro, and the other retaliates by pinning him against the door and murmuring vicious imprecations to his boss. Mukuro's eyes flash even in the semi-darkness of the room, and it is all Tsunayoshi can think of when Mukuro kisses him in the only way he knows how: all tongue and teeth and as spiteful as he could get. Red, like fire and blood, and blue, like the color of the night sky. So different from Gokudera. So maddening and frustrating.

It will haunt him for hours on end.

So he lets Mukuro hold him with all the desperation of one who has lost the will to fight back. This is the last time he will be able to, after all.

"You will not die," hisses Mukuro against his ear, even as he cups Tsunayoshi's face with his hands in false gentleness, "not until I possess your being."

Tsunayoshi smiles, and in his eyes, there is only pity.

Hours later, Tsunayoshi's right hand man shows up at Chrome's door and says, with his head bowed, "I have failed."

All of them have.

* * *

2.

* * *

This is how he realizes it:

"A will?" Tsunayoshi repeats, and Dino laughs nervously at the expression on the other's face.

"It's only a formality," he says, soothingly, "I've done mine years ago." Then, a little more anxiously, "and, well, you know what happened to Reborn."

And to Yamamoto's father. And to everyone else who shouldn't have died even after they fixed what was supposedly broken.

This is what came of it:

He is seated on an armchair that is all too large for his smaller frame. It almost looks comedic, especially with the way his new suit does not seem to fit him to well. There is a red light beeping from the video camera. It is time to begin.

What follows is a hastily and clumsily made up introduction, and his awkwardness seems to make the atmosphere lighter than it should be. He talks of happiness and life and death and friendship and family, and when he cannot keep his tears at bay, he finally decides to stop recording and to start writing something that will hopefully fill up the gaps and explain why this will is never too early.

He writes:

_For the first time in my life, I do not have regrets. There is no dying will when it comes to resignation. And if you may hate me, then please hate me, but do not forsake the family. We must love each other, through hell and back, or if we cannot do even that, then the greatest thing that we can do is to place our faith in others and trust in them, as we did before. Whether we are as far apart as Italy and Japan, we are still a family._

_It cannot be prevented. This is not the fault of anyone. Nothing will come of it if we blame others. If it is necessary, you must blame me for not being strong enough to fight against the future once more._ (and here the rest has been blotted out, except for the final line.)

_I have decided. I will not allow anyone else to die._

* * *

1.

The sky is colored crimson when they arrive at their destination. Gokudera makes sure to be gentle when he wakes him, and Tsunayoshi flushes at the kiss he receives on his cheek. The feeling lingers for a while. It burns on his skin, like an imprint.

This is the first time that he will ever step out of Japan, and the first of many days that he will not return from it. He has to be strong. He has to pray that it will all work out, and that something will come of this. This will be where he will spend the rest of his new life.

"This is Italy," says Gokudera with a smile, "your new home."

"Grazie," Tsunayoshi tests it out, and Gokudera laughs and envelopes him in a warm hug. It makes him feel as if there is a marked difference in this new place, but it is a good feeling, not entirely unwelcome

He hopes this future will last.

* * *

(_It is 6:05, and it signals the end of this story in reverse. Stories of the mafia are rarely ever told, because all of them have a distinct similarity: they begin and end with death, the death of love, and the death of hope.)_


End file.
